An Unwhatever Act of Something

I'm going to collect my new glasses, it is a beautiful morning, very excited.

My ex-boyfriend told me he is dying, I think. Not so exciting. He told me his doctor told him the treatments hadn't worked. There is a part of me that thinks, Oh, well, that is that, what is the point visiting, nobody will remember anything, very soon. Our life together is behind us, really. I'll always remember you. And part of my life ceases to exist, those memories we shared together. Then there will be nobody with whom I can discuss that part of my life.

They should just have the style and the dignity to go away some place and die. Nobody can do that, there are no words. Exquisite pain. Beyond what we know.

Momentarily, we think just of ourselves. It’s through fear, I guess. Guarding ourselves, our emotions.

Shake of the head.

Then, I guess, that is the wrong way to approach it, when I check myself. So, I'll go get my glasses, and then I'll go and see him. I'll be funny, clever, loving, try and cheer him up. I'm guessing, the correct response, where we step up, just because we have to, an un-whatever act of something.

Brush up on my, ‘It's all going to be alright’... no, not that. He knows, and I know… I'll wing it when I get there. It will be okay.

Better have another joint, for this.

Look at my new glasses. Funny face. What do you think?

I want to see if I can see better? The future. Is that irony?